


Swathed

by singing_to_shipwreck (shocked_into_shame)



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nandor goes on a date, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Vignettes, capes, like i lost the thread somewhere, metaphors that don't really mean anything at all, underdeveloped metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/singing_to_shipwreck
Summary: Nandor wears his capes and his vests and his boots and his cravats around the house, lazing about among furs and beside fireplaces in his full getup, and Guillermo finds himself eyeing him suspiciously, looking at the dramatically embellished, stiff cut of his clothing and wonderingis he comfortable?in which: capes come on and off, cloaks are pulled aside, and shoulders are enfoldeddifferent stages of Nandor and Guillermo's relationship, told in capes
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	Swathed

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt: capes  
> me: uhhhhhh but what do the capes _mean_
> 
> listen i tried with this. i really did. it's... a thing. there are some words here. i hope you enjoy the words. cheers.

In the early days of his familiarhood, back before things are a well-greased machine, Guillermo often wonders about Nandor, and why he does some of the things he does. Of course, he knows he’s just a familiar, and Nandor is a _vampire_ , so there might be no sense in trying to piece things together, but he can’t keep his thoughts from floating into wondering. 

Nandor wears his capes and his vests and his boots and his cravats around the house, lazing about among furs and beside fireplaces in his full getup, and Guillermo finds himself eyeing him suspiciously, looking at the dramatically embellished, stiff cut of his clothing and wondering _is he comfortable?_

Just before his Master retires to his coffin, he stands there expectantly, waiting for Guillermo to reach up and grip the collar of his cloak. Guillermo’s fingers shake a little; this still borders on tantalizing for him. His finger brushes just slightly against Nandor’s neck and he lets it linger there for a moment, savoring the closeness despite his better judgment. Nandor sends him a disapproving look, and his hands shake more violently as he grasps at the silk-lined garment and pulls it off with a flourish.

Once Nandor is secure in his coffin and Guillermo is secure away from his judgment, he finds himself wistfully brushing a thumb against the soft, plush fabric. 

  
  
  
  
Years later, when things are entirely less new and exciting and entirely more exhausting, at just past 2 in the morning Nandor announces he wants to go for a walk, of all things, and waits with raised eyebrows at the doorway.

“The green or the red?” Guillermo calls out absentmindedly. 

Nandor looks down at his outfit and firmly says, “The green.” Guillermo makes quick, agile work of wrapping his Master up in the cloak, pulling away as soon as he’s finished with the task. No straying brushes of hands, no errant touches of fingers. He knows better than that. 

It’s bitterly cold as they stroll through the park, a rare moment away from the cameras and from everyone else in the house. 

A shiver throttles Guillermo’s frame and his teeth chatter in his skull. Thoughts of last week’s tenth anniversary rattle around in his head. He’s trying not to be disappointed; he really is. But he hasn’t gotten used to the harsh slap of rejection, even after ten years, and maybe that’s his fault. It’s his fault for being so hopeful, even after all this time. He wraps his jacket tighter around himself and wills himself to stop trembling. 

Nandor looks at him warily before harrumphing and reaching long, captivating fingers up to the collar of his cape. He brushes it off in a fluid, swooping motion and Guillermo thinks, almost bitterly, _so he is capable of taking off his cape by himself._ He opens his mouth to ask why, exactly, Nandor is taking off his cape, but his words die in his throat as the fabric is draped around him. 

It weighs on his shoulders. The damp, fragrant musk of the fabric fills his nostrils and the heavy press of the thick fabric around his frame calms him. Velvet brushing against his hands and his neck makes him sigh contentedly and he pulls the garment closer, the chill that’s settled in his bones already being driven away. 

Nandor doesn’t look at him, his dark eyes fixed ahead as they walk aimlessly through the park, but Guillermo can’t look away from his face as he pulls the cape tighter around him. “Thank you, Master,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the fabric. “That’s much warmer.” 

And maybe Guillermo’s imagining the small, private upturn of Nandor’s mouth, but he’s surrounded by the warmth and the smell of this cape that he has cleaned and pressed and placed on and off broad shoulders too many times to count. That’s enough for now. 

  
  
  
  
Guillermo picks at the dirt that has glued itself onto the hem of the deep green fabric, his nose pinching in disgust at the smell. He schools his features; Nandor is watching him from the corner of the room impatiently, his arms crossed tightly. 

He looks intently at the fabric in his hands as he works, trying to pretend like his Master isn’t eyeing his every move. The dirt comes up easily enough. He knows this motion. He lets his hands take over and his mind wanders.

"Guillermo? _Guillermo?"_

Guillermo blinks and is brought back to the world, and Nandor is looking at him with a sneer on his face. "Guillermo, I called your name two whole times but you did not answer me," he pouts. 

"Sorry, Master," he answers dutifully. "I guess I just went somewhere else for a minute there."

Nandor looks at him blank-faced before his eyebrows furrow in confusion. "You didn't go anywhere, Guillermo! I saw you sitting there this whole time." 

"I didn't mean - I just meant that I - I was daydreaming." 

"Oh." Nandor deadpans. "Well, I am not paying you to be daydreaming. Do that shit on your own time." 

“Alright,” Guillermo murmurs, not even bothering to correct him. “Your cape is clean now, Master.” 

“Good.” Nandor looks at him expectantly, and Guillermo shoves the fabric in his direction. Nandor blinks at him, not at all amused, and Guillermo maintains eye contact, still holding out the cloak.

Guillermo doesn't blink. “Yes. Here it is.”

Nandor’s dark eyes narrow and his head cocks. “ _Guillermo_ ,” he says threateningly. 

Guillermo, as always, relents. 

He stands from his place on the sofa and reaches up, standing on his tiptoes to wrap the cloak around Nandor’s shoulders. Nandor hums and steps away, his hand bending at the wrist as he asks musically, “Now, was that so hard?” 

  
  
  
  
Guillermo tips his head back and gulps his tequila, his chest thumping with the loud, bass-heavy beat rattling the club. He doesn’t know why he’s here in one of the only vampire clubs in Staten Island, whether it’s to mingle or to patrol or to drink so much that he can’t feel his fingers anymore. He’s edging toward the last option, but hasn’t totally ruled out the second. 

Like a damn sixth sense, even though it’s been nearly a month since he’s last seen him, he immediately pinpoints Nandor when he walks into the club alone, watching raptly as he makes his way to a hightop table and greets the woman sitting there with a small, shy smile. She offers him a closed-lip smile in return, not quite reaching her eyes, and he sits across from her so Guillermo can only see his back. 

She’s pretty. Not in an unattainable way, not really, but she’s also impeccably dressed, and her makeup is precise and sharp. They look good together. Guillermo swallows down another sip as the dizzying realization comes to him. _Nandor is on a date_.

The woman opens her mouth to speak, revealing long, pointed teeth, and she gestures at Nandor’s chest with a perfectly manicured nail and a sneer on her face. He can’t see Nandor’s expression, but he imagines the crestfallen look that must be on his former Master’s face as he reaches for the collar of his cape - his _fancy_ cape, Guillermo knows, red and lush and for _special occasions only, Guillermo_ \- and shrugs it off. He’s left only in his shirts and his brocade and the downward, dejected slope of his shoulders is painfully apparent to Guillermo, even from across the room. The woman gives him a calculated once over and then raises one eyebrow, seemingly appeased by the wardrobe change. 

Guillermo looks away, fixing his gaze to one of the bottles behind the bar, and he sits through one and a half shitty songs before he finally allows himself to look again. He catches Nandor in the middle of a story, his fingers dancing in the air at his sides animatedly, and the smile that forms on Guillermo’s face is quickly extinguished by the unenthused, cool look that the woman gives him. She leans forward, her face curling mockingly, and she says something to Nandor that makes his arms drop. They look at each other for a moment before Nandor stands up abruptly, and Guillermo looks away, turning to hide his face as Nandor leaves. 

His red special occasion cape is still draped over the back of the chair. It's the cape he was wearing in the theatre. Guillermo frowns, his stomach tumbling at the memory. 

Alcohol has an emboldening effect, allowing him to stomp across the room and grab the cape in his hand. He sends a scathing look to the woman, who barely acknowledges him, before tucking the cape across his forearm and bolting out of the club. He checks for traffic and crosses the road, heading for the park just across the street, and he isn’t surprised to find Nandor there sitting on a bench near the fountain, his arms crossed tightly. His gaze stays in his lap even when Guillermo is standing right in front of him. 

He doesn’t look up as he mutters, “Dating is shit. Did you know that?”

“I guess,” Guillermo muses. “Although I don’t have much hands-on practice with it. Haven’t really had time for any of that.”

Nandor looks up, then, and if he were anyone else Guillermo would swear he sees guilt there on his dark features. The vampire frowns. “When I was married to 37 women, dating wasn’t this difficult!”

“Well, you know how it is,” Guillermo says casually, even though he _doesn’t_ know how it is, and he knows that Nandor also doesn’t know how it is. “One bad date doesn’t mean anything. You have to just, uh, try, try again. I guess.” Nandor mutters something under his breath, and Guillermo strains to hear him over the roaring water in the fountain. “Huh?” 

“That is the 4th date I have been on!” Nandor announces suddenly. His shoulders slump. “They are always leaving or getting angry with me or something else. And on one he didn’t even bother to show up!” he whines. “Who _does_ that shit? It is very disappointing.”

“Oh,” Guillermo says dumbly. After a beat, he adds, “I’m sorry.” 

“That is okay, Guillermo.” Nandor looks out across the park. “It is not your fault.” It almost seems like he wants to go on talking, but he doesn’t say anything more. 

Guillermo is uncomfortable. 11 years spent with Nandor and after just a few weeks away he doesn’t know how to just _be_ around him. His heart clenches in his chest, an equal parts reaction to the look on Nandor’s face and the distance Guillermo feels between them. 

Guillermo finally breaks the silence. “Your cape,” he says, gesturing to the bundle in his arms. “You left it in the club.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Nandor breathes. “Thank you, Guillermo. I’ll take that now.” He reaches his hand out, waiting for Guillermo to hand it off to him. 

Guillermo balks. Nandor’s lips part as he waits, his long fingers still outstretched. “Guillermo?” he asks, his voice soft and a little uneasy. 

Guillermo takes a deep breath before he steps forward, towering over Nandor's seated form. He wraps the cloak around Nandor’s shoulders tightly. Nandor looks up at him with wide, glassy eyes, his lower lip trembling as Guillermo swaddles him, and once he’s done, instead of pulling away like he always does, like every instinct screams at him to do now, he keeps a gentle hand there, pressing on the crook of Nandor’s shoulder. 

Nandor is almost small like this, and he murmurs, child-like, “Guillermo, can we go home now?”

Guillermo hesitates a moment. There are a billion and one reasons to say no. He begins to pull away, but a cold hand covers his, and Nandor keeps on looking at him with those wide, dark, glassy eyes, pleading silently. Guillermo bites his bottom lip. 

Eventually, he nods. "Sure, Nandor. We can go home." 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
